


The VeS Qama' File

by itspixiesthings



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Dependency, F/M, Interrogation, Klingon, Psychological Torture, Sexual Torture, Torture, broken relationships, cock and ball torture, cold war au, comfort doesn't work, non-con, the icpress file, this fic is not nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itspixiesthings/pseuds/itspixiesthings
Summary: The Republic of Qo'noS was developing something. Something big. It was only a matter of time, if operatives from the allied countries couldn't find the plans and stop the development, before the Klingons launched a full scale war. The world was collectively holding it's breath, waiting to see if the Klingons would unleash their weapon, or if the crisis would be averted.Coming off of the last World War, nobody was anxious for more bloodshed. Operatives like Ash Tyler were working hard to keep the cease fire from going south. But it was a dangerous job. One wrong move could result in being nabbed right off of a train by Klingon operatives and spies. And that was how Ash had found himself in the hands of Klingon Interrogation Specialist L'Rell.





	The VeS Qama' File

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: This is not a nice fic. This fic explores the emotional and psychological after effects of torture and conditioning and it isn't pretty and it's not intended to be portrayed in any kind of positive light. It is an emotional exploration piece and intended to be dark and heavy. Material may be upsetting. Please read with discretion.**
> 
>  
> 
> _Disclaimer: This fic was written prior to the release of Episode 10 in which it is revealed that Ash is in fact Voq. This fic explores Ash as his own character and takes his torture at the hands of L'Rell at face value, without him being someone else in disguise._

 

 **The operations manager looked her over with a doubtful eye, clearly unimpressed by what he saw.  
**   
**L'Rell didn't mind. She knew that her work spoke for itself. She watched him huff a sigh as he looked over the papers, her dossier and transfer summons in hand, listing her as having been assigned from higher up. _Professional Interrogator and Espionage Expert_** **, it called her. He gestured dismissively at the paper before looking at her with a cold gaze.  
**   
Ash raised his eyes as he heard the sound of the door opening. There was a click, click, clicking sound on the floor as the woman's footsteps reverberated through the room. The cold concrete basement walls echoed with the sound. Each fall of her heel sent a thrill of terror and longing through him, singing through his nerves and constricting in his chest. He had been conditioned, after months, to feel this way, to crave her visits as much as he existed in fear of them.  
  
She towered over him where he was laying, strapped down on the metal table, cuffs securing his wrists, his ankles. His face was encased in a hard steel contraption made to resemble some kind of fanged maw. He looked at her, waiting, putting on a hard expression and trying not to betray the conflicting emotions that coursed through him now. He knew it was for show, of course. And he knew that _she_ knew. She was well aware of what he was feeling. She always was.  
  
The woman's visage had come to haunt his nightmares, dreams of her face invading even the most private places of his mind. But the nightmares were never anything to the real thing. Her being here always had one outcome. She was going to hurt him.  
  
**“I don't need the services of a professional interrogator. I can break the** _ **VeS Qama's**_ **will easily enough myself. I am more than capable of beating the information out of him.”  
**   
**He talked big. But so did everybody.**  
  
“How are you, my _Qa'Homoy_.” She purred the words in her heavily accented voice, and he cringed when he felt her clawed fingers caress his face, tender on his skin. The door opened again and another Klingon entered, this one with a tray of food. He could smell the scent of meat and spices wafting towards him, and he had to stifle himself from whimpering as his stomach growled in hunger. She turned to the other, gesturing for them to set the tray aside on the table beside his. Next to all of the cruel implements of his pain. The Klingon grunted, set it down, and then left, the door slamming shut after him, making Ash flinch in his bindings.  
  
L'Rell smiled, circling around between the two tables, looking down on him. “Are you hungry? I thought we could talk, over dinner.” He watched her closely, his stomach still complaining for food, aching for it, as she turned to the tray with the wonderful smelling meal.  
  
Then she picked up a bowl, turning around to suddenly grasp him by the chin, and forced it to his lips. It was filled with something colourless, some sludgy mash that had no flavour or smell. Her strong fingers wrenched his jaw open, and he cried out as he felt her nails dig into his skin, and then the stuff was being poured between his lips and down his throat. It was slimy, it had no taste, and it made him choke. He thrashed in the cuffs that held him down, and tried to scream, but the stuff kept coming and he had no choice but to swallow around it.  
  
Finally the bowl was emptied, the slime drooling down his chin and neck. She set the bowl aside and then turned away again, moving to grasp the tray of food and pull it around close to him so he could see it, smell it, _want_ it. She tore into the steak with a voraciousness that would have disgusted him if he wasn't so hungry, sharp teeth mashing together as she let the blood from the animal run over her lips.  
  
It smelled incredible. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, but he just couldn't block out the _smell_ of it.  
  
He opened his eyes again and looked at her, setting his jaw, refusing to show how effected he was. He'd made it this far. She'd put him in isolation, she'd cut into his flesh with sharp knives and she'd starved him of food and water, but he hadn't broken yet. This, however, was new. He'd always been gagged before... and this time, he'd been left with his mouth freed. “I'm not going to tell you anything.” He didn't really know that the statement was true as much as he hoped it was. He wanted it to be true.  
  
She stopped eating them, setting down the remaining chunk of meat on the tray and leaning in towards him. He felt her clawed hand, still wet with blood, caress his cheek. “Oh, I know you won't. You're _strong_. You believe in your ideals. You can't be bought with threats or promises.” She stroked him, and he felt himself, incredibly, relaxing into her touch as she spoke. She didn't expect him to talk? What did that mean? Why free his lips if she didn't expect him to talk?  
  
She pulled away, grasping the last of the food and making a show of eating it, so close that he could hear her chew, could smell her breath. Then, she swallowed, took a deep breath of satisfaction, and locked eyes with him. “That's why I simply hurt you for the thrill of it.”

He felt his heart drop into his stomach, at those words. Then, he cried out in protest as she suddenly reached down to grasp his testicles in an iron grip. He hadn't even had time to process what she had said and he was already swimming in pain. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to breath, not give her the satisfaction of truly screaming.

 **She smiled sweetly and shrugged, looking him over with some skepticism. “I'm sure you are... you are known for your** _ **strength**_ **after all.” She paused for a moment, making a show of thinking it over, letting him bask in his own self congratulatory ego. Letting him preen at the compliment.**  
  
She leaned over him, her bright eyes boring into his, and he was helpless to do anything, clenching his fists and breathing in sharp gasping hisses through his teeth. Then she straightened up, her grip on him loosening, but not fully releasing, and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders release.  
  
“What are you doing?” He tried to keep the quiver out of his voice, though he couldn't manage to keep the fear out of his eyes as he watched her pick up from the table beside him something that looked like a clear piece of plastic. It had a hole at the top of it and two screws at the bottom. He winced, drawing in a sharp breath of discomfort as he felt her pulling him through it, until it was nestled tight around the base of his testicles.  
  
She didn't answer him. She had another similar looking piece of plastic and repeated the process, this time leaving the pane sitting on top of his balls, uncomfortably wedged between the two sheets. She tightened the screws until it was just tight enough to be secure.  
  
Next she was hooking him to some kind of machine with wires connected to small pads, which she placed along his body. Two on either side of his abdomen and then two more on his inner thighs. He had a sinking feeling that he knew what those were fore.  
  
“How high of a voltage do you think you can endure?” She sounded strictly matter of fact, but her words confirmed his fears. This was going to hurt. He stiffened, trying to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of pain as she fiddled with the machine. “Let's start you on a medium setting, today. I'm sure you can handle that.”

“ **But,” she grinned, “let me ask you something. What do you think it would take to break you, mighty warrior that you are? If you were in the captive's position? Would you spill all our secrets after a beating?”  
**   
The words had hardly left her mouth before the switch was thrown and the machine began to send bolts of electrical current through his body. He screamed, his muscles clenching, his skin feeling like it was on fire. He didn't know how long it lasted. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours. He felt like he was only a part of a current of pain, pulled along with the rushing rapids, endlessly screaming.  
  
Then, finally, it stopped.  
  
He panted, sweat pooling on his brow as he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was grinning down at him, watching him closely for any reaction. He refused to give it to her. He took in deep breath after deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. And then it came again.  
  
He felt like he was being endlessly torn apart, his lungs torn open and his chest heaving as his muscles were sent into spasms. Each jerk and twitch made him scream, each involuntary movement made him ashamed of what an idiot he looked, dancing on the table for her and her horrible machine.  
  
It switched off.  
  
He had a few blessed moments to breath again, gasping for air, his whole body drenched in sweat. Then, he felt her hand, curling around his cock, and his eyes flew open in horror. He looked down, and her fingers were wrapped around it, jerking it, and _oh god_ he was getting _hard_ in her grip.  
  
“There we are... There is nothing to be ashamed of. I will give you pain and pleasure, in equal amounts.” _God_ it felt good. After all that pain it felt like heaven. He couldn't stop himself from whimpering, openly mewling at her touch as she slowly coaxed him to full hardness, stiff in her hand. His hips were squirming, trying to thrust upwards, but he could hardly move.  
  
She let go, and he was immediately pleading because she was going to the machine again, reaching for the switch. “No no, no please! Don't..” His begging fell on deaf ears, and his world was, once again, pure, blissful agony. It shut out the thoughts. It shut out the shame. It shut out any sense he had of self, to just be made into a piece of an experience.  
  
**He looked offended, and she had to restrain herself from laughing. He all but sputtered at her, indignant and put off. He growled at her, leaning in to her in a show of dominance. “I am unbreakable. I would endure anything.” His tone suggested that she was on thin ice with her insinuation.  
**   
When it was finally off again, there she was, her hand on his cock once more, her eyes boring down into his soul, and he was panting and squirming and moaning. She moved her hand up and then down again and let her fingertips trail around the head before squeezing just enough to give him a sharp pang of euphoria. The pain somehow made the pleasure greater, sharper, and more overwhelming.  
  
Then, her hand trailed down to the screws on the device she had put him in, and ever so slightly, she turned them, tightening it just by a little, and he found himself suddenly shouting again.  
  
Gasping, sputtering, crying, he looked up at her, horror filling him as he realized what she was doing. She started jerking him again, and he couldn't help being so hard, so _fucking hard_ for her. He felt her fingers on every inch of him, moving up and down over the length and he wanted to _burst_ it felt so good. Pleasure built up inside of him, mounting, rising, and he knew that if she didn't stop he was going to cum, going to climax to her touch.  
  
Just as he was about to let go, she stopped. He gasped for breath, shaking his head helplessly and pulling at the chains as he watched her hands move downwards again, tightening the screws again, and he screamed. The pressure on his balls built up, squeezing and _crushing_ , and he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't stop her from applying more pressure, more pain, more agony. It lanced through him up his groin and through his centre and then she was _touching_ him again, his achingly hard cock firmly locked in her grip.  
  
“You look pretty like this, _Qa'Homoy._ ” She smiled down at him, her toothy grin wide and cruel. “Panting, screaming for me. Your balls crushed and bruised. If I tighten it enough, will they pop do you think?”  
  
He gasped, trying to rock his hips upwards, desperate to cum, desperate to relive the pressure, desperate for anything. She quickened her pace, moving her hand over his length quickly and methodically, a perfect rhythm. He was close, he was so close. He was going to cum from his interrogator's touch, he was going to-  
  
She stopped. He howled in frustration, and then again in pain as the screws were tightened. Over and over she brought him to the brink, and the just when he was going to reach that climax, she would stop, and tighten the contraption until he was seeing red. Everything in his body ached, pain had become a constant, sharp stabbing pangs of it shooting through his entire body.  
  
**She did not back down, instead leaning in towards him as well, eliminating distance between them until she could feel his breath, hot on her lips. “Really? What if they threatened to cut off your arms, make you into an invalid, permanently disfigure you?”**  
  
“God, please! Please, please _please_ let me cum, I'm _begging_ you, please!” He looked up at her, teary eyes wide with need and supplication. She smiled, a gentle smile, if you could call anything in her features gentle, and stroked his face with her fingertips. Tenderly. Leaned down, stooping over him, and he felt her lips meet his, felt her tongue on his, opening him, invading him.  
  
She swung a leg around to straddle him, getting up on top of him, and the table creaked under her weight. His eyes widened as he felt her moving, and he wondered when had she taken off her pants. She was slowly lowering herself onto him, the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, taking him into her, and he didn't think he could handle it, didn't know what to do. Fuck, she was going to fuck him!  
  
“Come on, _Qa'Homoy._ ” She whispered in his ear, and he shuddered and cried in ecstatic delight as she began to move her hips, riding him. Up and down. It was mesmerizing. “Cum for me.”  
  
Aching, bleeding, and sweating, he let go. He let go of every scrap of resistance, every part of him that would fight her, and gave in. He screamed into her mouth, shouts of lust and agony and exhaustion, broken whimpers and mewling moans as he came, as she rode out his climax, howling herself in rapture.

She had made him bleed. She had made him scream, and cry. Now she had made him orgasm. There wasn't a single part of himself that she had not seen, that she did not have access to. She stroked him gently, letting her hands pet his head over and over as they both came down from the high. _“Maj. MajQa'Homoy.”_

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
He wasn't sure how long he'd been here anymore. Hours stretched into infinity and it could have been days, or it might have been weeks. He winced as the light was suddenly turned on, the harsh brightness almost blinding after the long hours spent in the dark. He stiffened, sitting up from where he was laying on the small cot, the only piece of furniture in the cell. He could _feel_ her presence, even though he could barely see her behind the lights, and he found himself almost whimpering in anticipation.  
  
_“SuH.”_  
  
He heard her voice, and his whole body stiffened. He knew what was going to come next, and he was dreading it. At the same time, he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it. He was helpless, his body responding almost apart from his own mind and desires. He could smell the food, steaming meat, and he was already salivating for it, already felt his stomach grumbling in response to it, and he had nothing to fight for anyways. He waited with bated breath for her word.  
  
_“Ba'.”_  
  
He wanted to refuse, wanted to resist giving in. He shuffled backwards on the bed, his heart racing, knowing that it was highly possible that even this small act of defiance would be met with pain and punishment. Sure enough, within a few moments, the collar around his neck lit up, and he screamed, pain pouring through his entire body with bolts of electricity.  
  
**“I would endure. For the glory of Qo'noS.”  
**   
**She smiled, allowing him that small victory, and backed away from him with a show of deference. Raising her hands in placation. “I'm sure you would. You are, after all, so very** _**strong.**_ **” He seemed to be satisfied with that response. “But...” She began, putting a finger to her lips. “What if they didn't remove your arm right away?”**  
  
She repeated the command, firmer this time, and the current stopped. _“Ba'!”_  
  
He slipped from the bed to the floor, still shaking and gasping for air. He felt his knees hit the cold ground, and he didn't care about the pain as much as he craved the next thing she would say. He arranged himself into a kneel, bowing his head like he'd been taught, like she'd beat into him over and over again.  
  
Her voice took on a warmth it usually never betrayed, and he thought he could just _hear_ the smile on her lips. _“Maj.”_ That one word echoed through his mind. _Good._ Good. He was good. She was pleased with him. She stooped then, and the smell of food washed over him as the tray clinked on the ground. He didn't move, his body stiff with waiting. Waiting for the word.  
  
Finally, she gave it. _“Sop.”_  
  
He moved forward then, putting his hands out onto the hard concrete floor, crawling towards her. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. All he had to do was listen to her commands, and obey. There wasn't anything left to fight for, after all, and he was so _very_ hungry. It was so much simpler to obey.  
  
**“What if they were to start at your fingertips. Take them off up to the knuckles. And then the next day, to the hand. Then the day after that, they'd remove half of what remained of your palm, and the day after that your wrist would be a stump. Bit by bit, removing just a** _ **little**_ **of your arm until there was nothing left, right up to your shoulder. And then they'd start on the other arm. So that you could endure not just the slow constant physical pain, but also the horror of watching yourself slowly dwindle, whittled away, shrinking before your very eyes.** _ **Then**_ **, would you break?”**  
  
Yesterday this little exercise had him eating the tasteless gruel out of a bowl on the ground, but today she had brought him _meat,_ and his mouth would not stop watering as the smell wafted towards him, closer and closer as he crawled along like an animal towards the plate. Lowering his head to the ground, reaching forward blindly with his teeth.  
  
The meat tasted so good, rare and spiced. He felt tears welling up in his eyes at the flavour bursting across his tongue as he bit into it. He let the juices dribble down his chin as he scarfed it down, not caring for the mess he was making of himself or the humiliation of eating off the ground like a beast. His stomach growled in pleasure as he swallowed, bite after bite.  
  
At some point while he was gorging himself he felt a hand on his head, and he turned to look around to see her, standing beside him. She had come to him while he was eating and he hadn't noticed, hadn't been paying attention. And now her fingers were lacing through his hair and _petting_ him with affection and he couldn't help himself. He leaned into the touch like it was a breath of fresh air. After all the pain and the misery, submission earned him affection and gentle caresses, and _good food,_ and he didn't remember for that moment why he had ever fought her.  
  
**He had paled several shades as he'd listened to her words, and he had a kind of horror in his eyes that told her she had succeeded in painting a sinister enough painting in his mind that he was second guessing himself. He looked like he wanted to be sick, but like any Klingon warrior, he was too proud to admit it. Still, he hesitated in the response, which spoke volumes to how far her little scenario had gotten under his skin. She grinned wide, showing her teeth as she nodded with some satisfaction.  
**   
_“MajQa'Homoy.”_  
  
**“That's what I thought.”**

* * *

  
  
  
  
Michael's arms were around him, and he had never felt so safe, so warm, so loved and protected. Her skin against his felt like silk, like water, like life. So why didn't he feel right? Why did he have this constant itching in his skin, these urges in his mind, this longing for _pain?_  
  
They had rescued him a month ago now, a whole month. The US operatives had taken him into custody after breaking into the Klingon facility, and dragged his limp, barely conscious form out of the basement, and he'd cried he'd been so relieved, so glad to see the sun again and to be surrounded by friendly faces.  
  
And yet.  
  
Flashes of memories launched themselves like a movie across his retinas, the remembrance of torment, the drag of a knife, the seep of blood and the screams trapped in his throat. That wasn't the real horror, though, not the memories themselves. The _real_ horror was how much he _missed_ them. How even now with Michael's lips on his neck, breath on his skin, hands on his hips and in the throws of a frantic passion, he wanted something else.  
  
“Michael. Bite me.” He whispered the words, almost pleaded them, and she made a humming sound before she let her teeth playfully nip along his collarbone. But it wasn't enough. It didn't _hurt_ , it wasn't _pain_ , it was just a light pressure. He tightened his grip on her, his hands exploring the curve of her back. There was an urgency in his voice as he tried again, “Harder than that. Bite me.”

She bit him. It was harder this time, this time there was a slight shock of pain through his skin. But the skin didn't break, there was no blood, it wasn't enough. It didn't hurt enough.  
  
“Harder!” He needed to feel. He needed to feel something, _anything_ other than numb and guilty and ashamed. Broken. He pulled at her, trying to make her understand, understand how much he needed to hurt. She withdrew.  
  
“I.. Tyler, I don't want to hurt you.” She was frowning, confusion evident on her face and in her eyes. He felt something break inside of him at that. Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried to steady his own voice.  
  
“What if I want you to?” He tried to keep the desperation out of the words, tried to sound in control and not like a starving man begging for a scrap of bread.  
  
“What do you mean?” She didn't understand, of course she didn't. She looked truly concerned now, fear beginning to shine in her eyes, but he didn't pay it any mind. He ignored her gaze, the pity and worry in her frown, and instead looked around the room for the heap of discarded clothes.  
  
“Do you have a belt? Whip me with it. _Please._ ” A new idea had taken hold, a way to help her hurt him more, as much as he needed. He wanted to feel _welts,_ wanted his whole body to ache and scream with agony.  
  
She pulled away from him, looking him over as she did, her eyes swimming with pity. He hated it. Her voice was small, the breathless lust from before gone and replaced with timid concern. “What is this about?”  
  
He felt like he was going to cry, the sobs catching in his throat and shaking his chest. “Please!” He wanted to scream at her, to beg. L'Rell always helped him, if he begged, always liked him best crying and pleading.  
  
“No!” Michael shook her head, getting up off the bed quickly. She glanced at the heap of clothes as though she was ready to leave, like she was itching to get out of here, to leave him, and suddenly he couldn't hold back the floodgates anymore. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at her, so much concern and not enough understanding.  
  
“...I told her, you know. I told her everything.” His broken voice formed the words, air catching on them and making him flush with guilt. He had. He really had. L'Rell hadn't asked him anything, no questions, nothing at first. She had only hurt him, tore him apart over and over again until he begged for it to stop. And then she had rebuilt him, conditioned him. And there was nothing real to fight for, nothing to stop him from giving in and submitting because she wasn't even asking questions, not yet.  
  
It wasn't until he was already a trained animal, crawling obediently on the ground at her feet, that she had begun asking him questions. And by then it was too late to resist.  
  
“Tyler...” Michael looked at him, and her expression turned from wild concern to saddened pity. He wasn't sure which he hated more. He didn't want her to see him like this. Michael didn't _like_ seeing him like this, not like L'Rell.  
  
**“You see, torture is not just about pain.”**  
  
“I gave her the code to the encryptions.” He started babbling, and once his confessions began they couldn't be stopped. They were a torrent, pouring from him in a rush of need for atonement. “I gave her safe-house locations. Operative names. I told her everything she wanted to know. It didn't happen right away, but I did. I couldn't. I couldn't be strong.” He couldn't look at Michael as he spoke, staring down at the bed frame beneath him and hunching over himself. Fixed his eyes on his hands, clutching at the sheets.  
  
Michael knelt beside the bed, and took his hands in hers. Her touch felt warm, inviting, good. All the things he didn't deserve. “I know you told her. I know you were compromised. It doesn't matter.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and he could see tears shining in her eyes as well as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Nobody blames you. We're just glad you're safe. You survived.”  
  
He shook his head, gripped her hands, and pulled her in closer to him. He set his eyes, looking at her with longing as he tried to wrestle the demons within him.  
  
**“It is delicate work. It takes precision. It takes patience. What is the prisoner's name? What does he love most in this world? What is he the most afraid of? What drives him? Do you know?”**  
  
“Hurt me, please Michael. I deserve it. It's all I'm good for.” It was, now. It was all that would keep him sane. “I'm _good_ if you hurt me, it makes me good again. _Maj._ ” He insisted, repeating the Klingon word that had lulled him down from heights of agony time and time again. L'Rell had taught it to him. L'Rell had told him it meant _good._ L'Rell was pleased with him when he would submit. When he was _maj_. When he was good.

“ **You need to know them as intimately as you would know a lover.”**  
  
Michael slowly stood up, releasing his hands. She was shaking her head. He opened his mouth to plead again, but she cut him off, sounding pained herself. “I can't do this, Tyler... Ash. I can't.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Republic of Qo'noS was developing something. Something big. It was only a matter of time, if operatives from the allied countries couldn't find the plans and stop the development, before the Klingons launched a full scale war. The world was collectively holding it's breath, waiting to see if the Klingons would unleash their weapon, or if the crisis would be averted.  
  
Coming off of the last World War, nobody was anxious for more bloodshed. Everyone except, of course, the Klingons. The peace they had with their would be enemies was really more of a tenuous cease fire. Operatives like Ash Tyler were working hard to keep the cease fire from going south.  
  
Espionage, sabotage and intrigue. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, really. It was more paperwork and bureaucracy than anything else. But it was also dangerous. One wrong move could result in being nabbed right off of a train by Klingon operatives and spies.  
  
And that was how Ash had found himself in the hands of L'Rell. He'd gotten sloppy. He'd paid for it.  
  
Being rescued was unusual. He'd fully intended to die in the Klingon prison. Probably by L'Rell's hand, after he had spilled every scrap of information he had about the movements and plans of his compatriots. Once he wasn't worth the food he cost to keep him alive anymore. But as luck would have it, a raid on that facility had happened to coincide with his presence there.  
  
And he'd have thought that he'd be glad to be alive, out, having survived. Eager to move on with his life and forget the horrors he had endured in that cell. But he wasn't.

“ **You need to restructure how they think, until you are the only force that exists in their world. You have to become their god, their only hope for salvation. They must come to adore and worship you in equal measures as they fear you. You take them apart, but then you have to put them back together afterwards, mold them into something new.”**  
  
He found he couldn't stop thinking about her. Dreaming about her. She was in every breath he breathed, she had worked her way under his skin and through his veins. He hated her, hated her down the the very marrow of his bones, but that was the problem, wasn't it? She was so deeply embedded in him that he couldn't get her out again.

Paperwork. There was a lot of it, apparently, when you've been a prisoner of war for the past seven months. He was practically trapped in the office, restless and impatient. He wouldn't be cleared for fieldwork again for some time, so nobody minded if he worked extra hours when everyone else had gone home for the night, did they? Of course they didn't.  
  
Pouring through file after file, alone in the semi dark of the agency office, he found what he was looking for. Dossiers on the Klingons working at the facility where he had been held. Most of them marked _'DECEASED'_ in bright red stamps. Killed in the raid.  
  
But not her. Not L'Rell. He carefully plucked her folder from the rest and slipped it in with his own paperwork before heading home with the bundle.

 

* * *

 

 

It took weeks of investigating. L'Rell was in hiding, of course. She was a known operative in enemy territory, and connected with an ongoing investigation of the supposed health facility where kidnapped US prisoners had been held. Of course she was in hiding.  
  
Ash had to call in favours to locate her, had to do a lot of tracking and digging, but finally, he had a number. He was shaking, his whole body stiff with anxiety, constricting inwards, as he entered the phone booth. Picked up the phone, and dialed the number on the small piece of paper. Each dial of the spinner made his heart clench.  
  
_“NuqneH.”_

He paused. He could hardly believe he was hearing her voice through the phone, could hardly comprehend his emotions. Was he relieved? Excited? _Afraid?_ He tried to take a breath. Releasing it turned into a broken sob.  
  
**“That is what I love about being an interrogator. It is intimate, in ways that love never can be.”**  
  
“It's. It's me.” He felt outside of himself, somehow, like he had no control over the actions of his body. He was going to do this. He knew he shouldn't, but he had no choice. There was a long pause on the other end, before finally that familiar, honeyed tongue spoke again.  
  
“Hello, my _Qa'Homoy.”_  
  
He drew in a quick, gasping breath of horror, wanting to recoil from the booth, but unable to do so. He felt like he was crumbling, falling to pieces, and he _needed, what_ he didn't know, but he knew he needed it from _her._

“ **I have tortured 57 different people, and half of them I killed with my own hands. I have not forgotten a single detail about any one of them. Ripping someone inside out tends to stay with you.”**  
  
“I need. _I need._ ” He was sobbing, panicked breathing wracking his lungs and he gripped the phone so tight his knuckles turned white from the strain. He didn't know what to say to her. Was he offering himself? Giving himself to her, offering to sacrifice himself to her cruelty and her power? Truly?  
  
“I know what you need.” The voice on the other end almost sounded kind. Compassionate. “I'll give it to you. _MajQa'Homoy.”_  
  
**He looked at her then with a renewed respect, a new kind of appreciation for the work she did. He didn't, of course, acknowledge the change in his perceptions, still too proud to admit he may have been wrong in his initial assessment. But he did nod, and gesture towards the door that lead deeper into the facility.  
**   
**“Well, then. If you think you can bring me better results...”**

 

* * *

 

 

 **Key**  
  
_Qo'noS -_ Klingon Home Planet in canon, Country in this AU  
_VeS Qama -_ Prisoner of War  
_NuqneH -_ Traditional Klingon greeting, literally meaning "What do you want?"  
  
_Qa'Hom -_ Klingon insult, meaning a small harmless animal.  
_-oy,_  suffix, term of endearment  
Thus, _Qa'Homoy_ \- An insulting and demeaning term for "pet".  
  
"Clipped" Klingon, simplified commands used when speaking to animals:  
_SuH -_ Ready. Essentially, stand by to receive commands.  
_Ba'_ \- Sit.  
_Sop_ \- Eat.  
_Maj_ \- Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!  
> I LIVE for your feedback, so please let me know what you think! Your comments go a long way to motivate me to keep writing!
> 
> Please also come and [say hi on Tumblr!](http://firstorder-pixie.tumblr.com) I'd love to chat ;)


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